


A Night at the Katsuki-Nikiforov Household

by teamfreetitan



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: (its like one line), Angst, Backstory, Bonding, Canon Compliant, Character's Name Spelled as Viktor, Cuddling & Snuggling, Cussing, Fluff, Katsuki Yuuri and Victor Nikiforov are Yuri Plisetsky's Parents, Kissing, M/M, Post-Canon, Sleepy Cuddles, Supportive Katsuki Yuuri, Teen Angst, but nothing serious, home issues, just an argument, kiss, mentions of sex but nothing explicit, no abuse or anything like that, viktor is exhausted (tm), which is a new thing for me but I guess we'll try it out, yuuri comforts yurio
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-14
Updated: 2017-08-14
Packaged: 2018-12-15 04:52:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11798799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teamfreetitan/pseuds/teamfreetitan
Summary: Viktor is a simple man, who wants only two things: kisses from his fiance, and sleep. Yurio is a slightly less simple guy, with home issues and angst galore, who needs a place to crash and someone to rant to. Luckily, Yuuri is happy to provide for both of them, fulfilling Viktor's need of an amazing husband-to-be, and fulfilling his mom friend duties.(A.k.a. the one that's mostly fluff but Yurio spends the night in the Katsuki-Nikiforov household because he's having home issues.)





	A Night at the Katsuki-Nikiforov Household

It was Friday, which meant date night.

Because the training season was in full swing, Yuuri and Viktor had practice five days a week, with workouts on the weekends. Talk about exhausting. They spent their weekdays on the ice from nine to five, or in the gym nearby, training; most weekend mornings consisted of a run. Note, though, a “morning” run on the weekend meant around ten or eleven… Yuuri liked sleep and food. 

Still, the time they had to do things outside of skating was weekends. The couple didn’t have to worry about schedules or being on time or getting up early. Seriously, if they were late because they slept in and cuddled one more time, Yakov would kill them.

After practice, they had went gone to dinner at this cute little Italian place a couple of blocks from their apartment. In the past few months, Viktor and Yuuri had been there numerous times. Their linguini was to die for, and the breadsticks…  _ Oh, man _ , the  _ breadsticks _ . It was casual enough that they could wear their training outfits there - leggings and a Nike shirt were acceptable - but nice enough to have it feel like a date instead of just snagging food up. Not that any moment with Viktor didn’t feel like a date, because it did, but it was nice to sit down and dine and talk, restaurant style. Nothing too fancy, though; they saved that for special events like anniversaries. 

They ate at the candle-lit-but-with-electronic-candles restaurant, then headed home. Since it wasn’t far, the pair walked home, hand in hand. Part of Viktor’s choice in apartments, when he bought his years ago, was that it was close enough to walk to everything he needed, namely the rink, and food. However romantics evening strolls might be, Yuuri suspected it was because Viktor didn’t know how to drive. Yuuri didn’t mention it, though. Yakov, on the other hand…

Yuuri’s Russian was rusty, but he did know  _ some _ , certainly enough to know that Yakov say. “I’m so tired of driving these teenagers around, I dealt with it with Viktor his entire childhood - hell, I dealt with it until he moved to Japan! - so  _ maybe _ you guys should learn to drive!” Or, something along those lines. 

At home, Yuuri took out his keys and opened the door to their apartment. Even after months of calling Russia home, it still felt weird to walk into  _ their _ apartment. A good kind of weird. He knew all the little things about it by now, like exactly where that one creak was and how the front door stuck a tad on one of the tiles and which outlets were attached to the switches. He knew that the coat closet near the door was the perfect place for them to set their bags until Monday morning rolled around. Yuuri knew Viktor liked to leave his shoes immediately in the walkway, and it was no use to ask him to move them because, as many times as he did, Viktor always forgot. He wasn’t even surprised when the brown poodle bound up to him, giant paws on his thighs. 

Russia, this apartment, was home. Yuuri could not think of a single place he would rather be. 

Maybe, though, less so Russia, and more so Viktor. 

Viktor hopped in the shower first, while Yuuri flung himself on their bed and began to scroll through his phone. Although an occasional shower was great, most nights post practice they showered separately. They both showered fast and they liked slightly different temperatures of water. 

(Seriously, with the heat he liked, it was impossible that Viktor should even, like, have skin. How could he love the cold yet have such a fondness for heat. Showers were the worst, but he even stole all the blankets…)

Besides, it was a good excuse for Yuuri to scroll through Instagram, which was really the only social media he used. He looked at Viktor’s twitter, but didn’t even have his own. Facebook, Tumblr, Snapchat… not his thing. Phichit, on the other hand… His timeline had posts from his friend, including  video from his training session and a selfie he’d taken on Snapchat, apparent by the dog ears and tongue on his face. Yuuri double tapped both as Viktor emerged from the bathroom, letting out a burst of steam built up from his unfathomably hot shower. He wore only  towel, hair dripping water on his shoulders.

“It’s all yours,” he announced, bending down to kiss Yuuri on the forehead.

Yuuri stood. “You didn’t use all the hot water, did you?” 

Viktor cracked a smile and laughed. “No comment.” He kissed Yuuri on the lips, a quick, soft peck. “Love you, though.”

His smile was contagious, and Yuuri began to smile as well. “I love you, too.”

Less than ten minutes later, Yuuri emerged in pajama pants and a t-shirt. Viktor, likewise, sat on their bed, limbs stretched out and taking up both sides. When he crawled in, Yuuri lifted up Viktor’s arm and crawled in. It was hardly late, only eight o’clock, and for a night owl like Yuuri, that was nothing. Viktor, on the other hand, looked drowsy and exhausted.

His eyes were closed, just barely. His breathing was deep and relaxed. Viktor yawned. Yuuri treasured moments like this, sleepy, comfy ones, like in the evenings or mornings. More so in the evening Viktor got drowsy, as he was a total early bird. At least Yurio had some basis in his wild accusations of Viktor being an old man; he was such a grandpa, ready to go to bed at, like, eight. Viktor looked so adorable, wrapped up in blankets, an arm draped over Yuuri’s stomach. Viktor pushed himself closer.

Still, despite all of his attractiveness, he looked exhausted. There were bags under his eyes. Back in Japan, Viktor would still routinely stay up until nine or ten, later if he was with Yuuri and they were doing something. Now, even on weekends and date nights, he could hardly keep his eyes awake. Viktor looked tense, too, even though he had stretched in his post practice cool down. It all made Yuuri feel a little bit guilty, if he was honest, not that he would tell Viktor that. Viktor was coaching and practicing for his own competitive season. He had designed several programs - two his own, one for Yurio, and two for Yuuri, with Yuuri’s revisions - and if Yuuri needed something from his own demonstrated, he had to drag Viktor away from his own practice. Especially if it was a jump, Yuuri felt bad; Viktor didn’t have as much stamina as he did, so it was terrible to ask him to demonstrate a jump and then watch him immediately try to do his program all the way through for Yakov to watch, struggling through. For Viktor, even his struggling through was more beautiful than any other skater, but  _ still _ , Yuuri could see how tired he would get halfway through. 

Yuuri let his hand slide over, fingers gently pushing at Viktor’s shoulder. “You’re tense,” Yuuri commented. “Sit up.” Viktor sat, half prompted by Yuuri’s fingers. Yuuri dug his fingers across Viktor’s back, trying to work out the tightness. “You have a knot, I think. Here,” he said, tugging at the hem of Viktor’s shirt. He lifted it up and over his head, hands returning to the warm muscle to loosen the knot. 

When the knot was finally mostly gone, which took quite a few minutes, Viktor leaned back. He rested his head on Yuuri’s chest while Yuuri played with his hair. “I’m tired.”

“Then sleep, Vitenka,” Yuuri cooed. Viktor smiled; he always did when Yuuri called him that.

Each language had its own form of affectionate names. In English, it included pet names like “baby” and “my love.” In Japanese, affection could be expressed with honorifics, which English didn’t have, at least not the same way as Japanese did. In Russian culture, most people called each other by nicknames. “Vitenka,” obviously a variation of “Viktor” was gentle and calm and affectionate. They both liked it. 

Viktor rolled over from his position of half in Yuuri’s lap. He laid on his side, facing Yuuri. “Lay with me?” he asked, running his fingers over Yuuri’s. As an answer, Yuuri slipped deeper into the blankets, entangling their legs together. He brought Viktor’s hand to his mouth and kissed his ring. 

They tangled together, legs slipping against each other’s, arms around each other’s waists, heads resting near each other. They laid like that for quite some time. Yuuri thought Viktor had fallen asleep, was about to roll over and turn off the bedside lamp, when Viktor spoke.

“Yuuri,” he whispered, as if each syllable were sacred. 

“Hmm?”

“I love you,” Viktor said. Yuuri looked down, seeing Viktor staring up at him with half-lidded blue eyes. He had that little smile a person gets when they’re too exhausted to smile, but are happy anyway.

“I love you too,” Yuuri replied. He chased Viktor’s lips with his own, though there wasn’t that much running. They pressed against each other, hearts beating. They kissed and kissed, because they were addicted to each other. At some point, Viktor ended up shirtless. It got so hot from the blankets and their shared body heat that Yuuri’s fuzzy pants ended up on the floor. It wasn’t going anywhere tonight - they were too tired - but it was nice to simply exist with each other. They could be naked without it being sexual, which was, undeniably, part of the beauty.

Their relationship was kind and loving and natural and patient and unconditional and  _ real _ . They had sex, sure; they found each other attractive, sure. But it was more than that.

Unfortunately, when Yuuri lazily wrapped his newly-bare leg over Viktor’s hip, a loud ringing interrupted them. Yuuri admitted defeat, plopping onto his back in the expensive cotton sheets on their bed. Viktor rolled over, his back to Yuuri, searching for his phone. Yuuri listened to one side of the conversation. 

His Russian was good enough to understand it. “What?  _ Why _ ?”

Viktor rolled over and mouthed, “ _ It’s Yurio. _ ”

“Yeah, I guess so.” The line hung up.

“What was that?” Yuuri asked.

The thing about Yurio - if he contacted you first, it was probably important. Face to face, it was hard to engage in an actual conversation. Otherwise, it was basically impossible. Calling him meant leaving voicemails and sending texts meant being left on read. The only time he texted you was for something important. Calls meant it was critical. (Except Otabek, who Yurio routinely sent text messages to in the middle of practice. It couldn’t be easy having your best friend live a country away.)

“Yurio… he wants to spend the night here. I don’t know why, he wouldn’t say, but he said he would be here in a few minutes,” Viktor explained. 

Yuuri ran a hand through Viktor’s hair, doing little to straighten it out from his bedhead and where he already had tangled his fingers in it. “We should get dressed, then,” he whispered, reaching over for Viktor’s shirt. The Russian man sat up, and Yuuri, still on his lap, helped him pull it on. Yuuri crawled off and snatched his pajama pants, lifting his legs to slide them on. 

“Such a shame,” Viktor said softly. He rolled over and laid his head on Yuuri’s thighs, now covered in soft fabric. “Legs like yours should never have to be covered.” Yuuri laughed.

“I’m sure Yurio would disagree.” Now Viktor laughed. He brought a hand up to gently touch Yuuri’s jawline. He opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off by a yawn. “You know, Viktor, I can handle whatever’s going on with Yurio and let you sleep. I know you’re tired.” 

That did sound tempting to Viktor, but he said, “No, it’s okay… I’ll be fine. We can sleep in tomorrow?” 

Yuuri nodded. “Of course.” He leaned down, and Viktor filled the gap, pushing himself onto his elbows. Their mouths met in more tired kisses. Again, they were so very rudely interrupted, but this time it was by aggressive knocking on the front door. 

Viktor sat up, sliding his legs off the end of the bed. Yuuri stood first, going into the living room to answer the door. When he pulled it open, and Yurio stood outside. He wore a hoodie, though he was probably freezing in the Russian night; Yuuri certainly was when he pulled open the door, and, looking back, Viktor had a throw blanket from the couch draped over his frame as he sat down on the couch. Viktor was going to fall asleep there, and Yuuri was going to feel so guilty waking his sleeping fiance up from his peaceful slumber. 

Yurio looked… he looked foreign, in the way that he looked like Yurio, with his features and hair, but he looked off. It was like being fluent in a second language, but then hearing it with an accent for the first time. Yurio wore a thin, blue hoodie, the hood up and over his head, the strings pulled so that only his face and the ends of his hair showed through. Headphones hung out of the pocket in the pullover, where his hands were shoved. He wore jeans, which Yuuri hadn’t actually seen before. Costumes at tournaments, leggings or sweatpants at practice, and trousers at banquets, but never jeans. The oddest thing was his eyes, red and puffy, almost as if he’d been crying. Despite wearing his usual angsty scowl, he never cried in the years Yuuri knew him. 

“Move out of the damn doorway and let me in, Katsudon, I need a place to sleep,” he barked. His voice sounded rough and hoarse, but Yuuri stepped aside to let him in. 

“Yurio, are you alright?” Yuuri asked, locking the door behind him.

The teen didn’t respond, just threw himself on the couch, kicking Viktor. He jumped, since he was practically asleep anyway. He sat up, yawning. “Have you been crying?” Viktor asked, blunt as always. 

“Shut up!” he snapped, which meant yes. “I don’t… I don’t want to talk about it. I just need somewhere to sleep, alright? You guys can go to bed or whatever. This old man’s asleep anyway. Damn,” Yurio complained, kicking Viktor again. This time he stood. Yuuri grabbed his hand, whispered that he would be in there in a minute and to go sleep, and nudged him in the direction of their room. He took the blanket from the living room with him, so Yuuri snagged one from the linen closet, tossing it to Yurio. Viktor had disappeared into their room, door closed, so Yuuri sat down on the couch next to him. 

“Are you sure you’re okay? Did something happen at home? You’re not hurt, right? If you are-”

“Stop, Jesus, you’re like a mom. It’s nothing. I just got in an argument with my grandpa and needed to leave. I couldn’t be there.” Yurio sighed, standing. He walked into the kitchen, nabbing a milk carton from the fridge. He climbed on the counter and started drinking it straight from the container. 

Yuuri hopped onto the opposite counter, facing him. “Is this what you usually do when you get in fights at home, come to Viktor’s?” 

Yurio shrugged. “I’ve only gotten in one real fight with him before, and it wasn’t nearly as bad, so I just locked myself in my room with my headphones. Besides, before you showed up, Viktor’s place was, like, empty, and sad to be around. To be fair,  _ he _ was too depressing to deal with for more than five minutes. Now, he’s just to hyper and annoying. But, still.” 

“Well, you’re welcome whenever, you know that, right? But what do you mean this fight was worse? What happened?” 

Yurio put the milk carton lid on. “So, my mom, she surrendered me to my grandpa when I was, like, seven, and then I only saw her a couple times after that. She said she needed some time to get her shit together, blah blah blah, but she’d come get me after that. And since I started skating competitively, I haven’t seen her. Not once, right?” 

Yuuri hadn’t actually realized that. He knew Yurio’s dad was entirely out of the picture; he knew Yurio lived with his grandpa. But he had never really wondered about Yurio’s mom. It made sense, in perspective. Why he lived with his grandpa, some of the angst, and the fact that Yuuri had never met her, despite going to several tournaments together - including the Grand Prix Final - and skating at the same rink. It seemed that one thing that held Viktor and Yurio together, despite their clear differences, was their lack of parental figures (although Viktor was a different story). Yuuri nodded for Yurio to continue.

“So this evening,” Yurio said, full on ranting now. Most times, Yurio wouldn’t trust Yuuri with his favorite color. Now, it was late and Yurio was upset with no one else to go to, and it made Yuuri thankful. He was happy he could do something for the teen, even if that just meant listening and not complaining about him drinking straight from the milk container and giving him a roof over his head while he slept. “So this evening,” he repeated, “she  _ calls _ me. Like, out of nowhere! And my grandpa puts me on the phone, and she starts giving me some absolute fucking bullshit about how she misses me, and when is my next  _ gold-worthy  _ tournament going to be, so she can come. So I straight up tell her to fuck off, because, like, why didn’t she want to be in my life ‘til now? Was she waiting for me to win gold so she knew her son wasn’t as much of a fuck-up as her?”

He paused, face red with anger. He thought for a moment, contemplated the milk, and returned to the story. Yuuri listened quietly, throwing in, Yeah’s and Oh my God’s whenever necessary. 

“So my grandpa is furious, because I just told his daughter to fuck off, but, like, he knows it as well as I do! But he’s so angry, so we started fighting, and basically he told me to call her back, apologize, and give her details about my next tournament, and I won’t. She didn’t want me in her life, because if she did, she wouldn’t have left, or at least, she wouldn’t have stopped showing up! So I went to my room, and snuck out, and here I am. I’m just… I’m fucking upset! And if I stayed, my grandpa would have come in and tried to talk to me, and I just  _ can’t _ right now, you know?”

“That’s terrible, Yurio, I’m so sorry,” Yuuri said quietly, because it was. He couldn’t imagine what it would have been like to try and get to this point without all the support he had. His parents, Mari, Yuuko, Minako, Viktor, and everyone else… Yet, Yurio had virtually no one. His grandpa seemed like the only semi-affectionate support. Yakov was more of a tough love kinda guy, and now that he was here, Yuuri tried his best to be supportive. Especially because there were few others who were. Viktor, too, had always been cheering Yurio on, and Yuuri pushed the question of _ What did Yurio mean when he said Viktor was too depressing to be around before I was here? _ to the back of his mind. Yurio’s phone started ringing. He sent it to voicemail. “Your grandpa?” Yurio nodded.

“This is just my two cents,” Yuuri said, using an American phrase that made Yurio cock his head to the side, “but I think you should call him. Talk to him. I’m sure if you explain to him what you did to me - that you don’t want her in your life because she practically abandoned you, which I totally get - he’ll understand. I’m sure he’ll at least start to or try.”

Yurio set the milk back in the fridge after another long swig. “I really don’t want to talk to him about it. We don’t really talk about… that kinda stuff. The emotions, and stuff.”

Taking on his best mom face, Yuuri requested, “At least text him and let him know you’re safe. Or give me his number and let me text him. If you do, I’ll let you know what I’m saying before I send it, nothing you don’t want him to know.” When Yurio went silent, Yuuri added, “Fight or not, he deserves to know you’re safe. He’s probably worried sick. When Viktor and I fight, sometimes I go to the rink to clear my mind, and he always tells me to text him when I get there, because even if he’s angry, he still loves me.”

“You two are nasty,” was Yurio’s thoughts on that. Regardless, he gave Yuuri the number.

A quick text was drafted, with Yurio’s help, as it was in Cyrillic and Yuuri’s Russian was a work in progress. It read  _ Hello, this is Yuuri Katsuki-Nikiforov _ . (Yurio gagged. They weren’t even married and they still hyphenated their names already. Disgusting.)  _ Yuri is at Viktor and I’s apartment. He is safe but upset. I will take him home tomorrow morning. He needs some time to think. _

With Yurio’s approval, he hit send. 

Yurio settled on the couch, a blanket on him and one headphone in. “Goodnight,” Yuuri whispered, pushing open the door to his and Viktor’s bedroom. 

“Night,” Yurio said, putting in the other headphone. Yuuri turned off the light on his way into the other room. 

He slipped into bed, where Viktor was contently snoozing. Viktor was asleep, but when Yuuri slid in, he wrapped his arm around his fiance’s waist and pressed his head to his chest. Yuuri gently pushed a strand of hair out of his face. “Goodnight, love,” he whispered. 

Things were going to be alright. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed it! Kudos, bookmarks, etc. are always appreciated, and I read every comment. If I have any grammar/spelling errors, please let me know!


End file.
